Why Am I Writing In A Diary?
by callisoluna
Summary: Dally's younger sister's life. Rated T because, well, the sister's related to Dally, isn't she? Reviews welcome; this is my first fanfic. Disclaimer: I'm obviously not S.E. Hinton and I don't own The Outsiders.
1. Chapter 1

Journal, 11/2/60

First thing you oughta know about me is that I'm not some sissy. The only reason I'm writing in this stupid thing is cause the shrink here at the orphanage wants me to talk about my 'feelings' and junk. What in the world'm I supposed to write here? I'm tired of writing in this.

Journal, 11/3/10

Apparently, the shrink, or Dr. Robbins I guess, says I need to write more sentences, to 'express myself fully' and 'release emotional barriers.' Why do I even go to her? I mean, I could talk about my feelings all I wanted if I chose to, and no stinking shrink can make me do something I don't wanna do. But, yeah, if I write in this, I'll get a gold star or whatever they give the good kids in the orphanage, so I'll fill out this stupid sheet she gave me, maybe then she'll be satisfied.

1) What is your full name? Paris Lynne Winston

2) What do you look like? Blonde hair, blue eyes, white skin. I look like a stupid Barbie, but with smaller 'assets.'

3) What do you do in your spare time? Sit around and knit?

4) Do you have any goals for this year? Don't die

5) What is your favorite possession? A silver, pointy object

6) What is your favorite memory? The day I won my first rumble.

7) What do you want to be when you grow up? Veterinarian...

8) Who is your best friend? Dyllan

Whew that made me exhausted. Guess I'd better stop.

Journal, 11/4/10

The shrink says I'm obviously not taking this 'serious assignment' seriously. Well, I'm so regretful. At least now she's not checking this stupid thing. I'm still gonna write in this thing though. It's not like I have that many people listening to me at the moment. I guess I'm an outsider, not really fitting in. That previous sentence was painful to write. You can throw me a pity party now!

So what do you normally write in a diary? I'm not gonna sit on a sunstreaked sofa and write about my perfectly perfect day and how I had a tea party at Mary Sue's or anything. Actually, I'm writing this underneath my bed at midnight because I'd be teased for weeks if one of the guys caught me writing. Dr. Robbins would faint in happiness, though. See, I doubt she has successful sessions with the leftovers from the streets here at the Tulsa Orphanage.

School tomorrow. I'm jumping in happiness.

Journal, 11/5/10

School isn't fun. Actually, I could use many more words other than fun, but contrary to the popular belief, I don't swear so I won't say the words. Being an orphan and all, my only social interaction is from spitballs, pitying glances, and jeers. Except for the teachers in which case I'm the smart kid. I hate that, too. I mean, I'm don't seem like the kind of person who studies, which leads to lots of teases from the Socs. Of course, I don't exactly brag about my grades, so that doesn't come up often.

I'm a 'greaser' which means I don't wear skirts and according to the Socs, hook up with every availiable guy. I don't even see the point of this. I mean, honestly, who needs more fighting. Also, if I get one more stinking glare, my switchblade'll come out, I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

Journal, 11/5/60

So I didn't actually go to school today. Sue me. I didn't ditch on purpose, but I had some meeting with Social Services today; I don't know why. I just got ready for school and this really tall lady with way too much perfume came in with Mrs. Frederic (the director of the orphanage) and started asking me all about my wonderful life. I lied, of course, gave her the impression that I was a sweet wittle girl who was made of sugar. She might have seen through me, though. See, normal little girls don't wear ripped jeans and a T-shirt; they either wear sweater sets (Socs) or as little as possible (Greasers.) So, anyways, she left and we were in a daze, maybe 'cause her perfume was suddenly not stifling us or maybe because that lady was so...cheerful that her departure was like turning off a light in the house.

See, after that I wanted to go to school. Make-up work's a killer. But by that time the bus had already left, the school is too far to walk, and Ms. Frederic doesn't actually own a "gas-guzzler" as she says. The director of the orphanage isn't terrible or anything, but she believes there should be no such thing as idle hands, so I went upstairs and pretended to be doing unfinished homework while I actually wrote in this thing again. Nothing else to write today.

Journal, 11/6/60

School was just as fun as I thought it would be. To start off this wonderful day, I woke up at 4 to some really stupid beetle crawling on my forehead that is now spilling its guts out on the floor. Then I discovered you can never go back to sleep when you actually want to go back to sleep. So I got up, got dressed, and threw a stupid lizard out of my shoe. The day got even better as it progressed.

The bus was 30 minutes late, so I had to walk into homeroom and catch all the stares in the room directed on the bedraggled girl panting in the front of the room. After homeroom, I caught eyes with the gang. It's called 'the gang' because, even though most of us are greasers, we aren't exactly like a big happy family. They, however, would probably die for each other, even though they are really young. The youngest one is only 12 and the oldest one is like 20 but they're still really close. In greaser terms, that's rare because most contact is sexual.

Two-bit, everyone knows him because he greets all the new kids in the office since he's in there so much for pulling pranks. Sodapop is followed by a herd of girls all the time, so he's not hard to miss. Steve is with Sodapop most of the time and he's not too shabby, so the herd of girls grows. Ponyboy and Johnny, really shy people, are really young people in the middle school so they are only famous by the gang. But Dally Winston is the real character. He mainly walks alone, glaring, occasionally tapping his switchblade to remind people who's boss. No one messes with him, even the Socs who think they're all that go quiet when he walks by. I feel sorry for him.

The lady with the ovewhelming perfume came again today, to get documents or whatever. I'm not really suspicious, more like anticipating what'll happen next even though it's probably just a checkup.

Journal, 11/8/10

I'm releted to Dally Winston. Write more later. Help me!


	3. Chapter 3

Journal, 11/9/60

I don't know how obvious it is, but it seems to me that when a Social Service lady comes to your house and asks you to come with them, you get a little concerned, right? And when said Social Service lady, with your guardian's consent, comes and takes you away and the only words you're getting are "There's a big, big surprise waiting for you!" you're gonna be a little freaked out, right? Now imagine your arm is practically getting ripped off as the lady drags you inside to meet the cold, blue eyes of the toughest greaser in school. I was half-way to having an aneurysm right there.

And apparently this guy is my brother. As much as I was delighted to see him, he looked even more delighted to see me. Of couse, I've dreamed about meeting my family for awhile, but trust me, I imagined violins playing, not a high-schooler glaring. I didn't rush into his arms or anything either. The lady just stood there helplessly while Dally and I had an all out glare-out. Finally, the lady gave up on our happy reunion (oh, wait, her name is Ms. Rus) and told us how we got to meet each other.

Apparently, Dally fell down the stairs of his school (yeah, right, I believe that) and ended up in the hospital about a week ago, but he's fine now. Anyways, the hospital was doing some bloodwork, and they found out with DNA tests that he's my brother. Well, half brother. Apparently our shared Mother was busy with some other men. So now, I get to have a big happy family! Seriously, she said that.

After that loveliness, I got to go home. I have no idea what'll happen now, but I really dread meeting Dallas at school.

Journal, 11/10/60

Dyllan and I were walking in the park with some other Greasers when I saw him. Dally. Just standing there, cancer stick in one hand, the other hand buried in his well-worn leather jacket. He wasn't alone, he was with his gang, but he stood out like a sore thumb. I would've run away, but I say again, I'm not some sissy and I didn't want to show weakness. Dyllan noticed, offered me a cigarette to calm down, but I refused. I walked all tense but I tried to walk normally, so the result came as a half-strangled robotic chicken. I'll admit it here in this diary but nowhere else. I'm scared stiff of Dally Winston.

Journal, 11/11/60

Yay, apparently I get to meet my wonderful mother tomorrow. This should be fun.


	4. Chapter 4

Journal, 11/12/60

So I wanted something fairytale-like to happen. Maybe, oh I don't know, the mother I've been dreaming about for years actually acknowledging my existece, for one thing. Instead, when Ms. Rus comes in her red Socy car, she takes me not to the manor of a rich person's dreams, but to a drug rehab center.

I don't really know why I got my hopes up, either. I mean, my mom obviously didn't do too hot of a job raising Dallas. Actually, if the rumors are true, Dallas wants her gone, and I doubt he wants her gone to something as organized and safe as a rehab center.

Anyways, the center wasn't large and shiny or anything, but it did have large and shining guards. I mean, there must have been around 10 in the parking lot. Then we were frisked as we went inside. That guard was twice my size with half of my brain. Ms. Rus had it worse, though. That guard really liked placing his meaty hands on her body.

After walking through the doorway, we were directed to a desk with a Ms. Rus look-alike in a suit. She looked fancy, or she thought she did, tilting her head up so she'd have to look down at us, even though Ms. Rus is probably a Soc. Clutching a clipboard, she teetered on high heels all the way over to an enclosed, glass room. Any conversation Ms. Rus tried to make with Super-Soc ended with a sigh of regret.

My mom's a mess. Apparently, her name is Alice, a simple, pleasant name on an unpleasant person. She resembles me like I resemble Dallas. Non-existent fingernails, tangled hair, saggy skin and bones are my mother. I expected some reaction out of her, I was past heartfelt conversation at this point, but I expected something. Instead she just stared into space. The whole wave fingers thing ended in disaster, seeing as she did nothing and I looked like an idiot just shaking the muscles out of my hand with increasing desperation.

We left, and I've decided that I like my mother just as much as I love Dally.

Journal, 11/13/10

Dally's got weird friends. When I stepped off the bus, Two-Bit Matthews comes and starts messing with my hair while putting me in a headlock, crooning like a dying, happy rooster. Then Sodapop comes and releases me from the choking, hairy prison and I stagger off. Dyllan starts laughing because he was beside me the whole time, giving me a replay of the whole thing, over and over and over. He doesn't know about my new relations, so to him that was just a little funny sexual harrassment.

Journal, 11/14/10

Guess what? I get to spend a day with my favorite Greaser tomorrow! I'm so excited I'm going to pee myself. Why do I get this lovely bonding time? Because Two-Bit and Sodapop are greasy little slimeballs from underground, that's why.


End file.
